


Officer of the Line

by ParadoxR



Series: The Rest You Earn [3]
Category: Stargate (1994), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Beginnings, Episode: s01e01/2 Children of the Gods, F/M, Love/Hate, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxR/pseuds/ParadoxR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People are still sort of upset about that time Jack destabilized the galaxy with a nuclear bomb. Missing act post-CotG.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Way to Restart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated for cursing. Thanks to my beta, bethanyactually, for not minding how bloody long this took to change fifty times.

**13 February 1997 (Day 2 of the SGC):**

Jack lets the elevator close in front of him and fidgets with a nervousness he doesn’t normally feel. He knows the next move here, but he doesn’t really know how fix this.

‘This’ being the fact that a little over ten months ago, he set off a nuclear bomb on what was apparently the only stabilizing force this galaxy had. So let slip the dogs of war.

Unfortunately, Earth is a little short on dogs. And naquadah. And giant space guns. And apparently special ops colonels that even _try_ to figure out what the fuck is going on before they detonate nukes. Because twenty years in special operations apparently taught him to take everything at face value.

But Jack’s trying not to blame himself right now. No, actually, that’s not true. He completely blames himself. He’s the one who let himself get played by West; he’s the one that assumed Giza was so incompetent they hadn’t trained an off-world team in _fifteen years_ ; he’s the one that wouldn’t listen to a word they had to say from all that time. He’s the one that shut them down right before starting a war on their turf. He’s even the one that didn’t check what _Daniel_ needed to do to _get them home_. And subsequently he’s also the one that got his team stranded on Abydos without a point of origin symbol. _And_ he’s the one that decided to bring four untrained second lieutenants with less time in uniform than Charlie had in Little League to be slaughtered by an alien god-king on the far side of the galaxy.

Yes. He’d done that one too, not that he’d mentioned it to anyone in ten months.

He thought he’d been going up there for a second, with Skaara.

Then he’d immediately proceeded to get four twenty-two-year-olds slaughtered. Four _more_ of his own kids. He’d opened the divorce papers the day after the last funeral.

Jack’s head pounds as the elevator keeps dropping. No, that hadn’t been the best way to restart after a near suicide. And it only took ten months at the bottom of a liquor bottle for his beloved Air Force to call again.

And tell him that four _more_ airmen were dead. Because Jack maybe didn’t do his homework last time.

Weird how believing a society that’d been enslaved for ten thousand years didn’t give him the full picture of the galaxy.

Which brings Jack back to the war that he started. And his recent death toll, which now stands at one fifteen-year-long program, four green lieutenants, four needlessly clueless guards, one prisoner of war, his own nine-year-old son, and potentially Skaara and Sha’re and the six billion people of Earth.

If someone ever mentions that you can’t completely destroy your entire world in a week, just deck them.

Jack squeezes his temples and tries to make himself smarter before he does this.


	2. Anything but Disgusted

“Good afternoon. Some of you know me; I’m Colonel Jack O’Neill.” Jack pivots slowly in the crowded room. He’s going through with this, not around it. “And I am the man that you hate.”

Project Giza’s eggheads all stumble from shock to disgust back to anger at breakneck speed. Jack barely recognizes any of them, but he’s more than willing to believe Carter needs them back. They look smart. “I wanted to tell you what happened last year. What I did wrong.”

Jack walks to a small computer desk beside the door. He’s only struggled with the projector for a few seconds before someone snorts at him. It’s contagious. The screen finally flickers to life as he forces his pulse to slow. “Last year, I was called in to execute a mission. To destroy the first planet the Stargate—the Ring—connected to.” He shows them one of only a few dozen photos they’d taken on Abydos the first time.

The room erupts. Most of them hadn’t known about Abydos at all, and those that did only knew they couldn’t dial it. “You went to a _planet_?!” Someone barks from closer to Jack than most scientists are willing to get.

Jack nods at the balding man. “Yes. But I didn’t destroy it. We left someone behind to bury the Gate.” He breathes evenly. “I also killed the interstellar god-king that was going to destroy that planet and its inhabitants.” That earns him a brief silence.

A bulky man around Jack’s age cocks his head up. “You _killed_ the reigning superpower?”

“Yes.” Jack meets his eyes. Definitely prior special ops. Enlisted, and probably the ranking one in the room. “But Ra only wanted to destroy them because I was going to nuke him.” There are times Jack really wishes he were better with words. As it is, he just earns a very dangerous eyebrow from the senior sergeant. The rest of the room is quiet enough to hear the distant footfalls running down a far corridor. Too bad Jack doesn’t know what to do about her either.

The original balding scientist steps forward again. “So what the _heck_ did you drag us back down here for?”

“What I did last year saved the planet and its over five thousand inhabitants.” Jack looks from the stocky scientist to the retired sergeant. “But it alerted at least one other warlord to our presence. According to a recent defector, it’s likely to have started a race to enslave Earth.” And now there’s at least one other person that thinks Jack’s a total idiot. He turns from the sergeant and keeps counting people. “The program is being restarted effective immediately. One of our airmen is captured; eight others are dead. We don’t know how long Earth has until the invasion. You are all critical to our survival here.” He looks at every one of them again. Angry, confused. Mostly male, and only a handful under forty. The normal number of prior military in a government office, if Jack’s still good at guessing. And none of them look anything but disgusted with him. “You’ve always been critical. I apologize that I didn’t act that way last year. I wanted to shield you from the mess I was about to make.”

“ _That_ worked,” the civilian antagonist jabs again.

Jack nods. “I could’ve figured out how stupid that was if I’d done my job.” That gets a few more people to pause, but Jack’s still far from turning the crowd. Not that even forgiveness would equate to wanting him here anyway. “But what I’m asking for now isn’t about me.” Barring the part where it’s entirely his fault.

“It isn’t?” the lead scientist counters. “You’re the one saying it.” He bangs his unsigned contract on the table. “I’ve been in this business a long time, Colonel. Even the fighter jocks I’ve had weren’t this stupid and arrogant. I smell more of your crap.”

“Except that this is true.” Jack says levelly. He forces his voice to soften and remembers he deserves this. “I can’t give you more than what we know.” He projects a new report on the screen, which no one looks at. “We need your help. Earth does, and your families.”

Suddenly Jack’s got the very angry finger of a fifty-something scientist in his face. “ _You’ve_ got a lotta nerve talking about _my_ family!” The civilian glares at him in almost frenzied anger. “If you’re right and my kids do die, that’s on _you_ , not me.”

Jack swallows. ‘His kids.’ Everybody’s kids. _Six billion people’s_ kids. “Yes.” Jack needs to do something with this guy now, but he’s not sure what. In retrospect, he really needed Carter’s take before jumping into this. What else is new. “But think about how you’ll live with this if you walk away and let it happen.” Jack doesn’t look over as the aforementioned captain slows down and watches his from the doorway.

The scientist steps at him violently. “You don’t get to guilt trip me, you idiot. I didn’t let _anything_ happen, and I’m done being played by you assholes.” It’s more a growl than a cackle. “I spent _fourteen years_ of my life locked under a mountain for you jerks and as soon as it hits the Pentagon, suddenly my guys are the screw-ups. You cut me out of my career’s work, _Colonel_.” He spits and Jack lets him. “And then I spend six months getting railroaded out of my livelihood too! Out of my pension! People being blindly transferred out from under me because someone here doesn’t know the first thing about running a shutdown.” He spares a glower for Sam. “We were working our asses off to salvage the scrap you left us with, and my wife took the kids away!” He knocks his way past Jack and picks up a following of at least eight others. “Go lie to some other schmuck.”

Sam sucks down another breath and tries to figure out how to play the hand O’Neill’s already started. You know, some teammates plan these things together. “This time it’s true, Greg.” She gets in front of him and tries not to look like she’s actually standing with her new boss.

Greg isn’t the only one who huffs. _Captain_ Carter isn’t exactly the most well-received person in her old Giza lab anymore.

Sam moves around her ranking civilian manager and picks up his discarded contract. “I don’t expect you to believe me. But please do look for yourself.” She feels more than sees O’Neill abandon the computer and fade into the wall. “We found a map for the Doppler shifts. It’s starting to turn out more addresses.” That bubbles around the room. “The Gate is going operational, and there’s no way we can pull that off without you.” Sam looks around at the forty-something-year-olds that she spent most of her twenties working beside. “But we are going to war either way.”

“Because that approach worked so well last time.” Greg huffs in her face.

Sam sends a hard look at her would-be senior electrical engineer. “Doctor Kurn. Not everyone in the military is—”

“Incapable of seeing past their ends of their noses?” He laughs. “I know that, kid. Which is why I’m done playing with you two idiots. Enjoy running someone else into the ground, Captain.” He pushes past her, but some others look more hesitant.

Sam moves for him but doesn’t look away. “I’m asking.”

That turns Greg on his heel. “And what gives you the right to ask for anything? _Now_ you need help? I never thought I’d say this to youkiddo, but you’ve got a set on you.”

Sam swallows and squints down the high road. She’s never seen him this angry. “We’ve always needed you here, Doctor.” She looks around. “All of you; I’ve never made any secret of that. My job has always been to help you achieve yours. I’m sorry I’ve failed that.” And isn’t she. The Giza shutdown was the least of her messes last year, just ask the airmen she ‘protected’ to death by leaving the Gate under a goddamn tarp. All four of them. Almost certainly five, if Greg walks out.

“You did a fucking good job of that, _boss_.”

He’s almost whispering in her ear, and Sam makes herself count to six. Greg doesn’t curse much, especially not at her. But she hadn’t known Allie took the twins. “Right now I’m not asking you for your help. I’m asking for your reasoned judgement.” Sam finishes a very long look at him and walks up to the main computer. “I’ll do whatever I can for you regardless.” She leans over the monitor and tries not to feel the people staring at her back. Her friends, some of them. At least before it became apparent the Air Force completely screwed them and she’d completely mishandled it. “I can’t get you out of your non-disclosure agreements, but you’re under no obligation to sign those contracts right now.” Which is a very dangerous move to assert on her own. Sam tries not to white-knuckle the mouse as she waits for the colonel to object.

Jack just nods.

“This is your base. Nothing that any of us have done can change that. Go where you want, check into what you want.” She waves from the projector to the doorway and tries not to let her hand shake.

Jack catches the eye of the room guard and exchanges another nod. The airman disappears.

“I’m only a few days ahead of you: we just went back to the planet. This is what I found there.” Sam finally locates a picture of the DHD and clicks it open.

The realization bubbles through the room. “That’s it,” someone says in awe.

She half-turns towards the statement. “Yes. That’s the whole thing.” More murmurs. It still amazes her. “And you all more than deserve to know everything we have on it. Regardless of what you choose to do afterward. There’s not much that I can give you, but this I can.” Sam lets out a heavy breath and turns to lean back on the short desk. “That and some really good Thai food. I’ll go order dinner.”

It earns Sam a few chuckles, but her nerves are still stretched between here and wherever their missing airman is.


	3. Surprisingly Unasinine

Sam lets out a slightly ragged breath as she rounds the first corner away from the conference room.

“Nice.”

She turns back to the colonel and tries to gauge if that’s sarcastic.

Jack checks her skepticism. “You’re good with them,” he clarifies honestly.

Sam blows out a weary breath and turns to face him squarely. “Does it say ‘captain’ anywhere on my uniform, sir? Because you seem continually surprised that I’m even mildly capable of doing my job.” And it’d be really great if he’d stop trying to do it for her.

Jack has to rein in his smile at that. “Not surprised. Just grateful.” He tries to shrug their mood into lightening. He knows he didn’t exactly play that straight, but he really didn’t want it to look like they’d conspired together and has no idea how good or comfortable an actress she’d be.

Sam walks the last few steps to the nearest phone. “You didn’t have to talk to them at all, you know.”

Jack can’t quite read her opinion on the fact that he did. Somewhere between ‘would you _stop_ hopscotching through our chain of command?’ and ‘that was surprisingly unasinine of you’. He shrugs again at their still heavy mood. “I thought you could use a good sword fall. I’m not trying to make your job harder.”

She pauses. “Sometimes teammates plan things like that.” Or at least real senior officers _mention_ that they’re going to talk to your people. As opposed to running out of your lab mid-sentence without mentioning it.

Jack nods to avoid kicking himself audibly. “I should’ve.” Not that a full colonel should need a twenty-eight-year-old’s help with a room of annoyed eggheads. Or maybe it’s that he shouldn’t be so resistant to help with it.

Sam pauses again in confusion.

He sighs. “For future reference, Captain, I do appreciate knowing when I piss off my subordinates.” He finds a slight smile. “And I got ahead of myself trying to fix this. I apologize.”

Sam’s wants to give this another chance, but she’s starting to wonder how much time O’Neill spends ahead of himself. “Yes, sir.” Wait—she wants to give this another chance?

Jack sticks a hand in his pocket and makes himself loosen up. “But I did have to.” He waits for her to search for the antecedent. “You said I didn’t have to talk to them. I did.” He pops a light finger toward her nose. “ _You_ just didn’t think that I would.” He manages to dig up a characteristic shrug from somewhere. “Maybe I’m not the guy you thought I was.”

Sam blinks at the mildly charming smile on his face. And then again as he pulls out his wallet.

“Dinner, right?” Jack thumbs a credit card out of the beat up leather.

“Sir, you don’t have to—”

He keeps holding the card and raises an eyebrow. “You got something official for this?” Jack waits a beat for her to solve the rhetorical. “Take it. Those guys look like they want to eat us clean.” And while neither of them is exactly well-off, he’ll be making close to double what she is.

Sam tries and fails to take the card without touching him. He doesn’t leave as she orders from memory.

Jack claps his hands together as she clicks down the phone receiver. “So, how long?”

Sam turns around and realizes she should’ve asked him what he wanted. “Around 1700. I’ll meet it at the front gate.”

Jack nods and bounces on his heels. “Great, plenty of time. Let’s go.”

“Where? Sir.”

“To do something I should’ve done last year.”


	4. Foot in the Door

Sam hops back to her feet and rolls the shoulder she just landed on. He may be a strategic dolt, but man can this guy hit. Which would be more than enough if O’Neill didn’t happen to also be a bird colonel in the US Air Force.

“Ya alright?” Jack blinks the sweat from his eyes glances around at the handful of future SG members sparring in their large storeroom. This is nominally Jaffa hand-to-hand training, but most men are just violently coming to terms with ending up on the front line of a _galaxy_ that wants their people for snake food. Well that, and Daniel is hiding behind a storage box. Teal’c just looks bored.

“I’m fine, sir.” Sam analyzes his stance and tries to leave herself some room to maneuver. They’re doing this the way they actually fight—no pads, boots on. She can’t remember the last time she fought with pads, but she is sporting an abnormally clean boot print on her hip. It usually takes a long time for a guy to be willing to deck her.

“Who’s Greg Kurn?” Jack flips the captain over his shoulder and lands her hard just enough to ache. Again. “That angry doctor.” She shrugs it off and stands once more. He’ll give it to her, she’s got stamina.

“He was head of Giza’s electrical engineering.” Sam slides back from him nervously as the colonel goes on offense again. This has been painful. “Since back in 1980 when Catherine stole him from Nighthawk.” Damn, he doesn’t make multitasking easy. “Greg was lead designer for all dialing infrastructure. He supervised all two hundred supercomputer technicians.” Sam finally throws a hit, which he immediately twists behind her. Half a second later her stomach jolts to a stop between his knee and the floor.

Jack grimaces. The doctor thing is no surprise; Jack’s always had a knack for pissing off important people. “So what do we do about him?” He fakes snapping her neck and lets her stand back up.

Sam pushes to her feet roughly. “Kurn’s a GS-14, sir, and should be higher. Military structure aside, I’d suggest treating him like anyone who’s junior to you by only one grade.”

Jack forces her back to the ground immediately and makes her grapple with him. “Yet West made you his boss. When the program…shrunk.” Also known as ‘after Jack barged in’. He lands a punch in her stomach and twists her backwards into a vice grip.

She snorts before realizing she needs the air in her lungs. “I was Greg’s boss the way a second lieutenant outranks the Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force.” Sam’s grappling for painfully behind her but help wheezing.

Jack tilts his head over her shoulder. “Ya still alright?”

Sam spins free, lands a knee on his chest and puts him in a headlock.

He grunts. “You’re doing well.” Jack flips her onto the floor and keeps here there. “Trained?”

God, can’t he talk at a table like a normal person? “Quantico Squad Leader and some combat engineering. Two years on and off.” Sam’s voice squeaks slightly, but she refuses to withdraw from their conversation. “My whole team: mostly tactical insertion and area defense. Counter ambush. Giza wasn’t going to leave us helpless if the Ring worked.”

Jack pushes her face into the floor for a long moment. He’d read all this in her file of course, but it’s good to quiz her.

Sam finally twists out from under him. “That plus months of artillery calls, site retaking, close quarters combat.” She takes a quick chance trying to pull him  off balance on top of her. It doesn’t help matters much. “Some land navigation and level five evasion, though we didn’t intend to leave the Gate area while we tested it.” Sam gets the space to knee him despite being wedged under his torso.

“So no serious patrol tactics.” Jack slams her shin upward before remembering that she’s flexible enough to high kick him in face anyway. “No raiding, no multi-squad missions. Nothing on tactical battle coordination, mission profiles, no field reconnaissance, urban combat, mountain warfare. ” Not that Jack himself’s done that full-time in over a decade. “You do know that special ops is a permanent profession, Captain. You can’t pick it up at summer camp.”

Sam continues to squirm futilely and starts to lose her calm. “I didn’t take on this mission as an after-school hobby, sir.” She finally slips away enough to breathe and uses it for emphasis. “I’m the best you’ve got on the Stargate side, and this _is_ my career.”

“Captain, this is your career when you convince _me_ that it is.” Jack grunts and finally releases her

Sam stands and tries to look like…like however you’re supposed to look after a hour of getting your ass kicked by a full bird special operations colonel. “How long does that usually take, sir?”

Jack had intended to floor her again immediately, but he finds that to be a good question. “Usually two years.” She blinks at him. He shrugs with his fists raised. “Traditionally I start liking people right before they’re transferred.” He roundhouse kicks her out of nowhere and drives her back against the wall. “Of course, those two years come after two in the special ops training pipeline.” He goes for the takedown despite his knee screaming in pain. “And for captains, after years on the ground with their teams.”

Sam sees his throw coming and deflects enough to at least fall with a quiet slam. She pushes back to her feet and gives him a look that says this isn’t over until he makes her stop.

Jack drops her again before she’s upright. She lets out a sounds on impact that earns the only woman in the room another series of snorts. She brushes it off, again. Jack doubts she’s any stranger to men who’d rather laugh than admit she’s got her foot in the door on this job.

Sam lands back in her stance and concentrates solely on her CO despite lingering laughter. Somewhere off to their right a sergeant major launches her ex fiancé to the ground. Loudly, to Teal’c’s approval. Jonas backs away looking livid. Sam would rather concentrate on the issue in front of her.

Teal’c steps away from the aforementioned sergeant and younger officer with a nod. Some of these humans are quite skilled, but even that ranking sergeant lacks the strength and speed necessary to take on many Jaffa. Teal’c makes his way to O’Neill again, who is considerably less practiced than his own front line troops. With the exception of Captain Carter. And Daniel Jackson, who at this time appears to be hiding behind a large box.

Jack lets out a muted sigh as Teal’c locks sights on him. He could really do without another human-versus-Jaffa lesson being illustrated on his ribcage. Not that Jack can’t fight; he’s always been one of the more tactically capable officers in his units. It’s just the Jaffa are apparently supermen and Jack stopped running tactical teams back when they were drilling Russian _Sambo_ to fight the Soviets.

Captain Jonas Hanson turns away from his ex and the two men flanking her with a huff. He still can’t believe _this_ is what Sam was doing all these years, much less that she’s any good at it. And now apparently the colonel who blew up the fucking galaxy wants to fuck her. Great.

“I take it Project Giza’s invitation got lost in the mail?” A new man in well-worn camouflage walks past Jonas and addresses the room.

Jonas pivots on his heel and tosses a towel in Sam’s general direction. “How many scientists do you want us to deal with here?”

Jack preempts his captain’s answer pointedly. “We’ll train as many _scientists_ as we need to train, Hanson.” Jack emphasizes the word and gives the new man a once-over. A scientist he is not, if the flattop and the scar on his temple are any indication.

“I’ll try not to be a burden.” The not-scientist smiles far too broadly as he judges whether this ‘Hanson’ is in fact his boss’s ex fiancé. On a sparring field, in need of a partner.

Sam glances around the three-way standoff. “Captain Hanson, Chris was the intelligence chief for my test team. He also happens to be a retired Force Recon platoon sergeant.” She really shouldn’t gloat there; Jonas has mostly been quite pleasant thus far.

Jonas grimaces at the mistake and eyes the man up and down. Great. One of the jerks she was always with back in ’94. “Welcome aboard.”

The retired sergeant cocks an humored eyebrow. “I get how appearances can confuse you, Captain, but I’ve been on this boat since ’92 and it sailed just fine without you.”

Jack steers clear of that impending collision. “Is there anyone else like you down there, Sergeant?”

He drops the attitude with a shrug. “Afraid not. We’re your standard government organization: half ex-military, but mostly normal grunts, maintenance guys, some intel officers, couple pilots. Lots of desk riders. I was the only real experience Langford could scare up.” He knocks Sam in the shoulder lightly. “Good to be back, boss.” She’s a little less bruised than he’d expected.

Sam returns the smile despite a sea of ‘that’s right, get out of here’ looks.


	5. Need a Beanstalk

Sam juggles four bags of Thai takeout and swipes her card for the room that holds her old Project Giza crew. The reunion sounds…loud.

“Well you can burn General West in effigy later, Vitsen.”

Sam stands in the door and lets the senior civilian finish.

“…Because anyone who stays here will not have the luxury of time for placing blame. You will do your job.” It sounds authoritative, but that’s a proposal Greg’s not entirely sure he wants himself.

Vitsen grimaces at his old boss. “Fine. Forget West, but _O’Neill_ is here. Catherine’s not. So he’s either a sycophant or a stooge to get used like that, and I’m not interested in either.”

“…Yeah.” Greg concedes the point and massages the back of his neck. “That one I wouldn’t blame you for.”

Sam steps forward but decides against pushing in her two cents. “Dinner’s up, folks.” Her eyes skim across the masses notes scrawled on half a dozen white boards. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” She sets down the takeout containers and answers more questions about the DHD as best she can.

 

Jack scrubs a hand through his rapidly drying hair and hangs the phone back on the wall. Makepeace arrived right on schedule. Playtime’s over. “Captain. How’d they like dinner?”

Sam finishes walking up to him outside the locker room. “Better than they liked my answers, sir. And they’re still looking behind every bookshelf for Catherine to show up.”

Jack grimaces. He’s well aware Giza got the wrong retiree back. “You get anything to eat?” He heads off before she’s actually come to a stop.

“No.” Sam breaks in a jog to follow him. “What did you need, sir?”

“It’s time.” Jack looks over his shoulder. “You ready?”

“The Marine colonel is here?” Sam glances at her watch nervously.

“Makepeace, plus Lade and Dahlberg.” Jack punches the elevator call and buries his own tension about all this. “That’s a full Marine Expeditionary Unit CO, a Special Forces battalion commander, and Dahlberg is…”

“Area 51 commander.” Sam gulps casually. Talk about a colonel overload.

“And for now he’s running this joint, at least until Hammond gets back from Washington on this whole Teal’c thing.” Jack steps in and sticks his hand in the elevator door for her. “So you’ll tell us stuff about,” he gestures broadly, “stuff. And we figure out something Hammond can pitch as a strategy.” Jack studies her closely, though he probably shouldn’t. “Sound right?”

Sam nods nervously. “Yes, sir. I’m sure they’re all highly capable.” And miffed to be pulled from their own units in the middle of the day with no idea what this is about. “But I do wonder if it makes the SGC a little too…” She coughs.

“Top heavy?” Jack brushes her as he hits the correct button. “It’s a headquarters unit planning an interstellar war, Captain. That’s what colonels are for.” He wiggles the eagle on his collar. “Unless you’d rather do it yourself.”

Sam just stares at the doors and practices how she’ll brief four frustrated colonels at once. ‘Hello gentlemen, I have a defected five-star general from another solar system in the hallway that would like to explain how his false God plans to enslave Earth using pyramid-sized space ships.’

Jack pats her on the shoulder lightly and then wonders whether he should have. “You’ll do fine.”

 

Sam clicks to her final slide with an exhale. “Unfortunately that’s all that we know so far, gentlemen. I’ll be running Gate test missions as soon as possible to follow up on basic malfunctions and DHD handling.” She scans her audience. O’Neill at least doesn’t scare her, and Dahlberg wouldn’t butt in on ground combat tactics. But the Marine colonel looks like his jaw is about to twitch off his face, and the Special Forces commander’s been fidgeting with his green beret since O’Neill copped to the Abydos mess. “Can I answer any questions for you?” She swallows and keeps her chin straight.

Colonel Makepeace raises his jaw in contained aggravation, though more at the idiot someone put in charge here last year than at her. “So to be clear Captain, what you’re saying is that you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing.”

Sam inhales deeply. “That is a big part of the problem, sir.”

Jack leans forward to cover her. “Yet. Hence the President authorizing the nine exploratory teams.”

Makepeace huffs. “Right, nine squads and a few support units are going to fight an interstellar war for Earth’s survival.” He frowns pointedly. “Don’t patronize me, O’Neill. Either they don’t believe this is a threat, or they don’t believe you’re capable of addressing it.” And they’re in good company.

Jack lets the jab fall. “Teal’c isn’t lying about this threat. But we do need to figure out how to address it within our means.”

Makepeace splits his gaze between O’Neill and the chick scientist. “And your base plan was to have no idea who you were dealing with, kill him, and then call in my Marines to restabilize your galaxy.” He laughs and raps Carter’s folder on the table. “Which they’ll do by walking just as blindly through a giant, stationary, incomprehensible, unidirectional bulls-eyes that you don’t understand, drastically limits aerial support, and _glows in the dark_ when it turns on?”

Sam actually finds that to be a pretty apt summary of O’Neill’s history. “You’re right about the Stargate, sir.” It earns her an even darker gaze. “The DHD itself will also be a problem tactically. You need to hold the ground to get off planet: it can move or be dialed remotely.”

Makepeace glowers, and this time the Army commander joins in. “So you’re setting our men up to die because your eggheads don’t understand a stone ring.” The soldier gestures toward the window.

“We’re not setting anyone up, sir.”

Makepeace almost spits at her. “Captain, you are standing above the room where four junior enlisted men lost their lives because you didn’t even bother to tell them how to _guard_ that stone monstrosity.”

Jack stops short of visibly lunging at him. “Captain, you can go.” He keeps glaring at Makepeace but waves Carter out of the room before he decks a fellow bird colonel.

Makepeace slams a file on the table. “Yes, Doctor, do leave now. Go cook something less half-baked.” Or find herself Batman instead his Marines, because Robert Makepeace did not wake up this morning intending to dump good men on their death beds for some idiot eggheads.

Sam bucks at the double team from her own CO. “Gentlemen, I cannot _change_ the color of the event horizon.” She says that and then double-takes as to whether it’s definitively true.

“You’re _dismissed_ , Captain.” Jack makes himself stop there before he lights a match in this tinderbox.

“Hold on.” The previously-silent Army commander leans forward. “Let’s look at that. You’re saying you can’t make it stop glowing in the dark?”

Sam curses internally at her overzealousness. “We’ll examine it, sir.”

Makepeace huffs at the admission.

“We will continue to examine everything,” Sam continues a little more evenly. “You don’t get the Stargate to work in the first place without an organization that knows how to investigate unknowns.”

The soldier rubs his brow. “And you can’t get a way to contact the SGC without turning on the Stargate completely?”

Sam shakes her head. “That one’s definite, sir. I know it means forward deploying a lot of officers, but these planets are thousands of light years away. We need a wormhole.”

“I want you to prove that all to me later, Captain.” The soldier skims through his margin notes amiably. “And we’ll need a new weapons lab. I’ve handled deep-insertion operations for a decade, and we never agreed to use obviously hostile and non-portable ordnance. I have no intention of starting to now.” The barb comes with a barely-respectful glare at the Air Force colonel who brought an undisguised nuke with him.

Sam exhales at the chance to offer something positive. “The Stargate mineral is very promising for ordnance, sir. We’ve had a research lab on it for over a decade with excellent results on energy density. I’ll work out a strategic priorities draft.”

The soldier looks up at her, surprised that his dig a O’Neill elicited an abnormally useful response. “Thank you, Captain. I’m sure we’ll all have a…lively debate over your funding.” He looks back around the table. “But I’m also concerned about the broader priorities. I can’t say I support the plan to fight motherships by sending our men to hunt for magic beans on random planets.”

“And yet we might need a beanstalk one day.” Jack meets the man’s gaze evenly. “No one’s suggesting we neglect standard alliance-building and sabotage ops.”

Makepeace finds his voice and glowers at Colonel Idiot. “This may surprise you, O’Neill, but in the Marines we _plan_ those operations. It tends to work better than crossing our fingers and killing things.” He lets the barb sink in before turning back to the chick. “That requires detailed enemy politics, strategy, current movements, centers of gravity, interdiction points. Care to explain how you want us to _get_ all that information across an unknown galaxy you can barely navigate, Doctor?”

Sam misses that second where she wasn’t the room’s weak link. “Honestly sir, I have no idea.”


	6. Confusing by the Minute

**Fifteen minutes later:**

“Yes, sir.” Sam pulls back slightly from the Marine’s onslaught of words. “Yes—yes, sir. I understand that this is not reassuring, Colonel, but I assure you we’ll do all we can.” Oh yeah, that was...assuring. Sam squares herself to Makepeace once. “We will decipher this situation, gentlemen. I’d never take a needless risk with any of your men’s lives. Please just understand we need time to answer your questions.” She bounces slightly on her boot heels and tries to relax. Again. “They’re all very good questions.”

Makepeace grunts but finally stops slamming her for a moment. Too bad Sam’s already exhausted every way there is to say ‘we’re working on it’ and now gets to just stand here. All four colonels drop into a tired lull.

The junior airman outside their closed door rubs a finger in his ear and finally knocks.

“Enter.”

The young man clears his throat and peeks into the briefing room. “Colonel...err, Colonels...Captain, the science director is here for Captain Carter.”

Jack raises his head at the nervous young man and tries to guess whether this will be good news. “Everybody done with Carter?”

Sam resists the urge to thank O’Neill aloud as the other three colonels nod. She turns towards the door where Greg is already standing and looks at him for a long moment. It changes her mind about leaving. “Colonels, if you don’t mind?” Sam sucks in a breath and gestures the waiting civilian in.

Colonel Dahlberg nods; he’s here mostly to placate Giza anyway. “What can we do for you, Doctor?”

Greg acknowledges the man he knows rather well but addresses Sam with an outstretched folder. “The staff’s employment contracts.”

Sam blinks at the stack in surprise. “Signed?”

Greg manages not to chuckle at her in front of four uniformed colonels. “Yes.” He exhales out the last of his salient annoyance at the situation. “I am still a pretty convincing manager, Sam. For a civilian.”

Sam resists the urge to both roll her eyes and hug him. “Thank you.” She’d been assuming she had about ten minutes before needing to explain why her scientists set off the SGC sprinkler system by burning their unsigned contracts.

“ _Great_.” Makepeace grunts. “Does that mean you’re ready to get us some actual answers on this shitshow, Doctor? Or would you rather we deal directly with your civilians?”

Sam tries to ignore that bait. “We will solve this, sir.”

Jack watches as the power balance wobbles precariously and holds up a hand to stop it. “Doctor, if I can ask, what made you stay?”

Greg levels him a long look but eventually decides to answer honestly. “I talked to your ex-First Prime. Convincing guy. You gotten us into one hell of a mess, O’Neill.” And yet Teal’c’s view on O’Neill only served to make the officer more confusing by the minute. Maybe Jackson’s translation was off. “I couldn’t let our best people walk away from a war.” He pauses. “Nor will I let them be used again.”

Jack just nods. “We’ll need your help.”

Greg grimaces. “Considering how we got us into this mess, I’m entirely unconvinced the military should be in the lead.”

Makepeace frowns assertively. “Let’s get something straight here, Doctor. What happened on Abydos last year was _not_ military.” He glares at Jack. “Militaries end wars, they don’t start them.” Politics does that. Or stupidity.  O’Neill won’t look at him.

Colonel Dahlberg leans between the complex staring match of three men he’s officially commanding. “You have two hours, Doctor.” He gestures Carter out of the room with him. “I want something substantive from you two. Before we lose another eight people.”


	7. Easy Way Out

Jack watches the briefing room door close and strand him alone with the three very pissed off colonels. Or rather, one weary scientific commander, a jaw-gritting Green Beret, and an absolutely murderous Marine that fate somehow managed to name ‘Makepeace’.

“Did you just fall out of a fucking lieutenant’s flight, you idiot?”

Jack steels himself toward the ironically named Marine. “I’m sorry you’ve all been dragged into this.” And sorry it’s his fault.

Makepeace grunts exasperation. “Well you did that already, flyboy. So who the hell are you?”

Jack exhales. “I’m the former deputy commander of the Air Force’s 720th Special Tactics Group. Retired as a Strategic Plans Division Chief at the Pentagon.” And then his ex-boss called him back to blow up the universe.

Makepeace stops just short of throwing a folder at the idiot. “And you came back because you have another nuke to lose? Or just more people to con?”

“Neither.” That’s all Jack gives the jab, and Makepeace eventually stands up to pace.

The commander of Area 51 waits until he’s relatively sure neither man will explode at a question. “Why don’t you tell us why you’re back, O’Neill.”

Jack holds up a notepad and quotes his former job title. “‘Strategic planning’. You know the lighting’s too dim in the stockade.”

Colonel Dahlberg doesn’t acknowledge the humor. “And do you have anything?”

“Of course he doesn’t.” Makepeace pivots on his heel. “Because he’s an idiot, just ask the kids he killed last year. Or the ones he just did.” The Marine’s eyes darken further. “Or the ones he’s about to.”

Jack chokes down on that and tries not to look it. “We did think Ra was the last one.”

Makepeace huffs. “Yeah, and what’s that called? Other than deathly improbable and naïvely blind faith in a race that’s been _enslaved_ for a few _thousand years_.”

“It’s stupid.” The Army lieutenant colonel supplies before continuing to bite his tongue until it bleeds.

Dahlberg pulls the conversation back more measuredly. “I do not like liars, O’Neill.”

Jack scrubs a hand over his forehead. “You of all people know that West would’ve destroyed the Abydonians. You know his history as well as I do.”

Dahlberg slams a hand on the table. “Then you stop him _there_! Dammit O’Neill, You wore _eagles_ before you ran away. Eagles.” He knocks on his own shoulder board. “We’ve only got _two_ jobs in this world: command our own bases and keep generals from doing stupid crap. That’s where the twenty years of leadership was supposed to get us. And you took the easy way out.”

Jack makes himself stop fighting the triple team.

Dahlberg pushes back from the table. “Integrity is our highest standard specifically _because_ we know the historical consequences on military operations.” He slows down and rubs his forehead. “Figures this’d be the time it meant concealing an alien warlord wanting enslave the Earth.”

Jack manages to nod at that. He used to be better at timing. And judgement. “I can fix this if you don’t get preoccupied with screaming at him.” He really doesn’t need the lecture, but he can hardly blame them for not knowing that.

Makepeace pivots sharply. “Tell you what, flyboy: I’ll give you plenty of room. Take the rank off your collar.” He snorts insultingly. “But feel free to keep that cute rookie squad.”

“He’s not a flyboy.” Dahlberg rejoins the glares at the man in question. “At least, my Air Force doesn’t even promote captains and majors who can’t lead dozens of airmen. Competently.” He stands up to join Makepeace. “And I’ve never know even one to be _both_ strategically asinine with nuclear weapons _and_ incapable of leading an organization for _two days_ without blowing off the people they’re supposed to support.”

Jack’s head has started spinning already, which is almost certainly the intention. “I don’t expect you to like me.” Them or anyone else.

Makepeace curses at him. “I hope you _expect_ me to throw you through that plate glass window.” His spit mists in Jack’s face. “Because that’s typically what I do to idiots who don’t give a shit about killing their own men.”

“ _Do not_ tell me what I’m not upset about.” Jack jerks back in his chair.

Makepeace just huffs.

It brings Jack within a half-second of knocking him out cold, but he manages to keep his seat. “Criticize, rework, ream me out if you want. But do not tell me I don’t care.” Jack pauses to stop his subtle shaking. “I already feel exactly as bad as I can afford to feel given the current situation.”

Dahlberg looks at that answer for a long minute. “You seem to have that effect on people.” But he’s done kicking for now. Ken’s never really relished that responsibility anyway.

Apparently Makepeace is more fond of it.


	8. Someday Soon

It takes another six minutes for Makepeace to finish with Jack. The Marine is still utterly murderous as he stalks out of the room, but he nods at the secretary evenly enough and deliberately turns away from following O’Neill.

Colonel Kenneth Dahlberg looks down at the remaining Army officer, who’s elected to look preoccupied jotting careful notes on Carter’s memos. Ken can appreciate that, the diligence as well as the compartmentalization. Better leave the disciplining to the commander instead—a role Ken’s somehow managed to pull for the moment. He’s supposed to keep any of the Giza scientists from killing O’Neill as they come back.

Ken’s not totally convinced that’s plausible.

Although, no one’s actually shot him yet. His _mea culpa_ even got some good reviews. And he’d taken Ken’s own beating professionally enough. None of that addresses the incompetence issue, of course. Not that Ken’s time in the cockpit qualifies him to slight the competencies of veteran black ops colonels. Or do much of anything in terms of combat operations here.

Makepeace seems like he’ll be excellent for that part, at least. The Marine may be easily pissed by ineptitude and unforgiving of sincerity, but he’s got a laser focus for the war planning. And probably an excellent left hook, neither of which Ken would mind O’Neill learning firsthand.Or he wouldn’t mind, if O’Neill weren’t surprisingly less of an asshole than Ken had been expecting.

That part’s rather annoying.

Ken eventually sighs and looks back at the Army officer.

Lieutenant Colonel Lange takes the belated hint and looks up. “Can I ask what you know about him?”

“Which him?”

The soldier unfolds green service dress to its full towering height. An impressive build and an uniform even in Ken’s book, but the guy seems pretty easygoing. “Both of them. And her.”

Ken pulls a single file out of his stack. “I’m glad to have Carter back. She’s not really ready for a war, but Hammond agrees she’s best shot we’ve got.”

The soldier’s eyes flit over the personnel file efficiently. “Two years of half-assed coed combat training in DC.” Lange grimaces over his large array of combat badges. “They couldn’t’ve picked a best shot who’d spent those years in Special Forces qualification?”

Dahlberg grimaces slightly. “No, I think they _had_ to pick the person who was best for it.”

He holds up his hand in strategic retreat. “Just saying. Unfortunate.” The soldier sighs. “I’ll make some calls about O’Neill. Anything else for now?”

Ken smiles and walks to the door with him. “Saving the planet would be nice of you.”

 

The Green Beret must have been truly curious about O’Neill, because it takes less than an hour him to end up back in Ken’s office. “Anything?”

The solider settles in to a creaking chair. “I found a few guys that’d read O’Neill’s stuff when he was at Fort Bragg.” Lange hands over a short stack of papers. “It was mostly classified, but he’s a good writer at least. Smart. Controversial as hell, but with a knack for unification and a bigger one for novelty.” He grimaces heavily. “Nothing that explains last year.”

Ken nods over the files. “But at least he didn’t find his eagles in a Cracker Jack box.” He jots down the details. “Anything more directly useful?”

Lange exhales at that. “His best-known knack is one for pissing people off.”

Ken looks up immediately. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” The soldier looks at his superior evenly. “But I’m not entirely sure it’s the wrong people.” He glances around the dusty office. “O’Neill is controversial, but it’s a good record on its own. Cared for all his units, fought for them, never left anyone in trouble. Took some bullets for that part back in the day. Even as late at the Gulf: saved a one-star general when their forward post got hit. O’Neill almost died; spent four months in an Iraqi prison for his trouble.”

Ken’s eyebrows rise sharply. “Is that who got him in here?”

Lange shakes his head. “Never took a cent for it. At least not publicly: he is purportedly better than stupid shit like that. Mostly a quiet guy. Funny, apparently.”

Ken snorts.

Lange rolls his shoulders to loosen. “Everyone at Hurlburt says he just takes his licks and goes back to work. No blue falcon, won’t chase the glory gigs, rarely even pulls rank. Gotten very good at putting the right experience in the right jobs, and worked damn hard to live up to what he asked of them.”

“You’re saying he’s supposedly a reasonable CO.” Ken waits for the soldier’s nod. “Except that one time.”

“Except for that one time.” Lange’s expression morphs into a scowl. “And I could point you toward a lot of excellent colonels who didn’t throw records like that to royally blow an single expeditionary mission.”

Ken nods in agreement. Lord knows where the world would be if not for men like that. Where it might go now. “Anything else?”

Lange waits a long beat to change the topic. “You’re sure about Carter? I get that you’re looking for a turnaround artist, but she took a pretty bad detour last time.” Through four closed-casket funerals.

Ken raises a patient if lightly reproving eyebrow. “Which is exactly why we require our captains earn another decade of command experience before they decommission the most dangerous device in known history.”

Lange grunts in acknowledgement. “And would’ve been nice if someone’d mentioned what it was.” He shakes his head. “But her set up doesn’t matter, sir, you know that. She didn’t decommission it; she ran it out of money and mismanaged the priorities. We’re lucky Apophis didn’t introduce himself with an alien nuke.”

Ken scrubs the back of his neck. “Yeah.” And that’ll be hell for her to pay soon.

The younger officer sighs off that topic. “You want me to stay on O’Neill?”

Ken stands up to walk out with him. “No. You get to concentrate on the clusterfuck we’re already in.” Ken’s dealing with this one alone.


	9. No Rosetta Stone

Jack answers to the cursory knock at his office door as it swings open. He picks up an intact pen and flips past a scribbled page of his legal pad. He’d been hoping for more time.

“Hey.” Ken takes the slightly rickety seat without asking.

Jack studies the man’s demeanor with two raised eyebrows. It’d taken long enough for Jack’s reputation to proceed him. “Is this the part where I tell you not to believe a word they’ve said about me?”

Ken doesn’t find that particularly amusing. “I shouldn’t believe it?”

Jack shrugs out of the humor. “Believe who you trust. I’ll prove the rest.”

Ken grimaces. “You’re well behind the eight ball on that.”

It hits Jack harder than he should let it. “I’ve already apologized to Giza.”

Ken grunts. “No, you’ve apologized to half of Giza. The easy half. Carter convinced me not to even recall Cryptology until she has a way handle you and Jackson being here and Catherine not.”

Jack tries and fails to look like he’d known that. “I’ll talk to Carter about that.” He’d say he can’t believe she didn’t tell him, but he absolutely can.

“We need Crypto back here. Now.” Ken’s glare has a level of protectiveness that Jack personally appreciates. “That section deciphered over a hundred feedback signals from scratch at Giza. No Rosetta stone, no alphabet, just physicists and frequency plots. Thanks to Jackson for the seventh symbol and all, but _that’s_ the kind of long-haul insight we need for this universe.” He pauses. “You might also realize that you can build a more productive unit if you don’t assume everyone serving here is completely useless.”

“I did get that one already.” Jack really needs a way to scrub the ‘I hate scientists’ stamp off his forehead before they show up.

The younger man frowns. “I didn’t assume that uselessness with you, O’Neill. You proved it. There’s no second chance at first impressions.”

Jack looks at him honestly. “Can I get a chance to make a second one?”

Ken pauses but refrains from answering that out loud. “I assume you can put together why Hammond called me in here.”

“Because we need a rear echelon center in Nevada.” Jack really needed a softball question.

“We needed it immediately after that stunt on Abydos.” Ken lets the jab sink slightly. “It’s a priority. I wanted to make sure you understand that, despite the gap in our seniorities. And when my people—my Defense Department researchers—do come back, try to remember that you don’t need a uniform to have brains about policy.” He pauses meaningfully. “In fact being in uniform is neither a necessary nor sufficient condition for that.”

Jack answers the gaze evenly. “You know despite the rumors, I am not actually a twelve-year-old holding a _No Geeks Aloud_ sign.” He sighs. “And I definitely don’t bitch about seniority. I know why you’re here, and I hope it works. You’re the right person to bring this together.”

Ken debates whether that should soften his stance at all. “The right person for the job would be a career-long SG officer.”

“Glad we agree.” Jack embraces the chance to nod. “Not that dumping special operators and scientists into a room and shaking it won’t be interesting.”

The agreement turns Ken not a little apprehensive. “And what exactly do you intend to do in that?”

Jack raises both eyebrows. “Everything that I can.”

“Starting by salvaging your credibility from a six-man squad?” Ken huffs. “You know we’ve got a major commanding the entire operational Air Force element and a Marine infantry colonel downstairs.” He taps his pen. “Why don’t you tell me which of the excellent Special Tactics commanders you’ve served with should replace you.”

Jack doesn’t move. “I’m working in the job I’ve got.”

“Yeah, and what about the _people_ you’ve got?” Ken’s pen starts twirling rapidly. “Don’t tell me that after twenty years you still think getting a CO slot has anything to do with _you_.” Not that he shouldn’t’ve expected as much. Ken’s going too soft on this guy: if the Giza housecleaning showed anything, it’s that O’Neill prefers being completely clueless while simultaneously surrounded only by people he can outperform.

Jack pulls himself out of the impending reescalation and tries to figure out what’s driving it. It takes a long moment. “I’m not going to kill her.”

Ken’s head jerks up. “You have a bad track record.”

The pain reaches to Jack’s chest. “I know this is hard to believe, but I actually have a very good track record overall.”

“Not when it requires thinking.” Ken frowns. “This is way out of your league conceptually; you’ve proved that. And I doubt West of all people dragged you in here for your strategic leadership _._ ”

That point Jack has to concede. He was manifestly the worst person for that job last year, which makes it a bizarrely unlikely coincidence that he’d be the best one now. Unfortunately Jack’s not a coincidence fan. “West picked me last year because I pissed him off by being good at my job.” Of course, that’s just what set him apart from the other suicidal black ops men, but he leaves the explanation at that anyway.

“And then you _killed_ four second lieutenants!” Ken leans forward dangerously. “How many are you going to kill next time you miss one of Jackson’s assumptions? They next time you stonewall expert you don’t like or falsify a report you don’t want?”

It sends Jack’s head spinning again. “I’m not that guy anymore.”

Ken’s teeth grit. “And you want to trust that? Carter’s a promising officer, O’Neill. But she’s not ready to handle your bullshit in real-time ground combat. Those kids weren’t either.”

“Carter is not a second lieutenant.” And neither is Jack, despite impressions. “And she’s far more prepared for ground battle than a guy who’s never seen combat outside of a cockpit.” Jack grabs at his temper, but if there’s one thing he doesn’t tolerate it’s being lectured to about ground combat by a freaking gunship pilot.

Ken eyes the man’s justified anger. “I’m not talking about battle tactics. I’m talking about force readiness.”

Jack huffs. “Carter’s on my team because no one else will take her, and you know it.” He forces the speed out of his voice. “And she’ll have to be ready.” Because someone in this room just started a war.

“Actually I was talking about you. When’s the last time you deliberately put your own boot into battle plan?”

Jack doesn’t answer. “Unfortunately now the galaxy wants to eat us.” If his knuckles are turning white, it’s because six months in an Iraqi prison with four nineteen-year-olds was the exact opposite of deliberate.

“And that’s why you _know_ that none of us the option of trusting you again. The risks are too high.” Ken finally sighs in weariness. “Dammit Jack, you _know_ this isn’t personal. You’ve got eagles on your collar. I should need one of you for every sixty junior officers. What’s even the point of barely trusting you with one?”

That punch lands in Jack’s gut, mostly because it’s the question he’s be asking himself all day. “The point is I’m going to take the chance to fix this.”

Ken looks at him warily. “You know, back in my flying days we put combat pilot training _before_ actual combat. I think you guys do it similarly.”

Jack nods with a undisguised concern. “Back in my day, we had standing armies with the skillsets to actually win the wars we might fight.”

Ken grimaces. “So since you ruined that timeline, you intend to take her limited preparation and your limited understanding, tie yourself to her ankle and toss her through a wormhole.”

Jack levels fellow colonel a long look. “If your captain ends up in the deep end, it will not be because I pushed her. Carter’s a trained light combat engineer who got a PhD in astrophysics four years after surviving a helicopter crash in a war the rest of class wasn’t even fighting.”

Ken’s brow furrows tiredly. “So instead of throwing her, you’ll…”

“She’s going to jump in after me.”

That catches Ken off guard enough that he might smile if not for the constant pounding in his forehead. “And would you be using my officers as lab rats if you hadn’t already screwed over the galaxy?”

“Never.” Though Jack could really do without the constant reminder that he did. “I’m just looking for a chance to salvage this.”

“Unfortunately youdon’t have a chance to spare her.” Ken looks at him pointedly.

Jack answers the look. “Then I’ll give her mine.”

Ken sighs at the admonishment. “And why don’t I think you’ll stop there?”

Jack almost smiles. “Because I have eagles on my collar.”

Ken scrubs his brow. “And if I told you to keep a low profile? You know that I have a unit to build here, Jack.” He lets that pause in shared understanding. “I can’t have you making waves while I try to get theoretical scientists and elite commandos to trust each other in the shadow of incomprehensible enemy technology and eight dead airmen.”

Jack tilts his chin slightly. “You’re assuming I’ll fail.”

“I’m making a judgement call based on history.”

Jack can’t really object to that. Yet. “Then you’ll want to take SG-1 away from me.” His fingers rattle off their nervous energy at the suggestion.

Ken clamps down on a grimace. “SG-1 is not a second chance, O’Neill. It’s the place Hammond wants to put you until you fall on your sword in the negligence and dishonesty investigations."

Jack doesn’t shift. “Everything is a second chance.”


	10. (Epilogue) It’ll Get Cold

Jack leans back against the elevator and taps his fingers on the metal siding. He’s never really been able to stop moving when he’s nervous. Or ever, really. His muscles are too active, his mind moves too fast.

He needs a video game. Or a beer. Though it’s probably better that he stop drinking his problems away if he’s going to take on real ones again. Which he will.

That’s what he does.

Jack builds relationships. Trust, specifically. Convincing people to trust each other when they really have no reason to is a hallmark of his career. Even more useful in the Pentagon than it was sneaking around the old USSR.

Arguably less of a boon in his personal life.

Not that he’s had much of a personal life.

What he had had he’d only fucked up very, very good. So much for being compelling with relationships; he’d gone cold turkey on Sara that same day. Or more of a chicken, actually. Cold chicken is more accurate. But he can’t do that anymore either, not here.

Jack looks out as the elevator opens and decides to take the long way to the briefing room.

Because if he’s honest, maybe he really can’t do this anymore. It’s worth examining. It’s not east stuff, Standing up the unit, bringing people together, fixing his own mess. Saving the world. It’s not easy.

And he’d lost something that day which isn’t not coming back. Confidence. A flair for novelty. Whimsy, Sara used to call it. It’s gone. He wasn’t that guy last year.

And whimsy is not something that General West brings out in his people. Honestly neither does Daniel. Jack’s looking to Teal’c at this point.

There’s also the minor concern that if Jack can’t make this place work, he in fact killed six billion people last year. Which would be bad. Unfortunately it’s difficult to make people trust each other when you don’t actually trust yourself.

And that’ll make this meeting all the harder. It’s the team leaders now, exploratory and reinforcement. There’s a speech Jack really ought to rehearse. He scrubs a finger in his ear. ‘Hi, folks. So this is the Stargate. It’s a giant glow-in-the-dark bull’s eye that transports you to the other side of the galaxy. Yes, really. It’s built by aliens, so we’re not really sure how it works, but it should let you come back most of the time. If it breaks though, we don’t know how to fix it. Plus the controller is another stationary bull’s eye in basically the worst location possible. And that sucks, because the people on these planets probably know where the Gate is, and may or may not kill you on sight because they don’t speak English and are potentially aligned with egomaniacal warlords. Oh and by the way, the galaxy is overrun by those crazy parasitic murderers that want to wrap themselves around your spinal cord and enslave the human race. At least one is currently hell-bent on annihilating our planet. My bad. Could you fix that for me? Great. I’ll be somewhere off away from all those Jaffa, ‘exploring’. And bring a jacket, it’ll get cold at night.”

Jack sighs and steps into the darkened briefing room. Hopefully Carter’s having better luck with Giza now than he is with…life in general. Not that she seems like a person who fusses much with luck. He’ll let her do her own job.

Funny how accidentally blowing up the universe brings out the micromanager in you.

He’ll stop, though. It’s not like Jack doesn’t have his own work cut out for him. He doesn’t have the credibility for real war planning yet, so the first step is to find a long shot and earn it back. Beanstalk, ruby slippers, a rabbit hole. An unused Death Star. Maybe getting a clue. Because it’s become pretty damn clear that the entire universe is playing chess while he’s playing pin the tail on the donkey.

And by ‘him’, Jack means just himself. He’s the one who went blind last year, so now SG-1 is the only one stuck fiddling with the donkey’s tail. Oddly, teams not micromanaged by washed-up bird colonels are fighting a major covert war. Plus the whole interstellar, ‘we have no idea what we’re doing and are utterly outnumbered’ thing. Still, it’s spying, sabotage, interdiction, undermining suppliers. And dying at it, probably a lot.

In contrast, SG-1 apparently exists solely remind Jack why he’s been demoted from commanding four hundred guys to micromanaging four.And to tell him that he really ought to lay down and die like he was supposed to last year.

And yet, that was last year.

Jack paces past the Gate Room window and glances at his watch. Something tells him this is about to become a lot less like pin the tail on the donkey and a lot more like Russian roulette.


End file.
